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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826293">You Terrible Thing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_deer_friend/pseuds/my_deer_friend'>my_deer_friend</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hold my tongue [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Begging, Cheating, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Depravity, Domination, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Orgasm, Francis Kinloch shows up for about two seconds, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Jealousy, Lams - Freeform, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nudity, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Rare Pairings, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Sexual Frustration, Submission, don't make me apologise again, dubious is the word of the day, lams but with a different Laurens, mild violence, you should know what you're getting into, your sins are your own</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:35:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_deer_friend/pseuds/my_deer_friend</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas Eve dinner at the Laurens homestead, a surprisingly informal occasion to which Henry has invited a wide circle of relatives and acquaintances. The room around Alex is bustling with happy faces and seasonal cheer. He hates every moment of it.</p><p>He’s in freefall. </p><p>They’ve been there for three whole days and Henry has not so much as spared him a private glance. If Henry doesn’t get his hands on him tonight, he’s going to go mad with unspent tension. </p><p>Or do something really, really stupid.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/Henry Laurens (1723-1792), Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hold my tongue [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alexander Hamilton wants to <em> die.  </em></p><p>He fiddles with his fish knife - John had to explain to him what the weird spatula-like utensil was - and wonders dramatically if it would be sharp enough for him to stab into his neck. He runs his thumb over the cutting edge and realises that, no, it’s blunt as fuck. He’d do <em> anything </em> to get away from this table and the impossible frustration being inflicted on him.</p><p>He is crawling up the walls. His skin has never burnt this badly; it’s like the closer he orbits the source of his relief, the more insistent the need for it gets.</p><p>It’s Christmas Eve dinner at the Laurens homestead, a surprisingly informal occasion to which Henry has invited a wide circle of relatives and acquaintances. The room around him is bustling with happy faces and seasonal cheer. Alex hates every moment of it.</p><p>He’s in freefall. </p><p>If Henry doesn’t get a hand on his cock tonight, he’s going to go mad with unspent tension.</p><p>Except that they’ve been there for three whole days and Henry has not so much as spared him a private glance. </p><p>He thought they had an agreement - unspoken, yes, but no less clear and potent for it. He feels betrayed, after all the effort he’s expended just getting John here in the first place. He’s had to be so careful - pretending at being completely uneager, yet constantly pushing the idea overtly and subliminally. He wishes he could get credit for all this maneuvering for his Critical Thinking and Logic course, because he’d be top of the class even before he did any extra credit. He eventually goads John into it by - honest to god - spinning him a sob story about how he wishes he had a father and a family who wanted to see him, and a home to go to for the holidays. He’s not proud of himself, at least not very much. This guilt trip is what finally settles it, and the deep nausea at deceiving John is relieved only by the assurance that he will get another taste of illicit purification at Henry’s hands. </p><p>To make his predicament worse, the Christmas festivities mean that there are even more family members for John to flaunt his newfound bravado about his sexuality in front of, so Alex finds that there are almost no moments when John isn’t touching him in some way - an arm around his waist as they greet arriving guests, a hand toying with his as they mingle, a kiss on the cheek during a break in conversation, a palm on his thigh as they take their seats. </p><p>Just two months ago, Alex would have preened to have this gorgeous man all over him in public and matched him gesture for gesture. But now, with Henry’s heavy presence pulling his attention like a magnet, the contact just feels shameful. </p><p>He should <em> not </em> be ashamed by his boyfriend’s sweet, loving touches. And yet, the thought that Henry might get some sort of cruel pleasure from watching this display taints it completely. </p><p>When they are called to take their seats, Alex discovers that there are place cards on the tables. Because John is the eldest son, it is natural for him to be seated beside his father, and that means Alex, as his guest, is one seat further down. But, oh, Henry has been wicked with this arrangement, because <em> everyone </em> knows that John can’t sit right next to Henry for fear of what he might say or do. John is smart and bold, but it turns into wilful self-destruction in his home setting, and it doesn’t take much for him to lose his cool in the face of his father, especially if there is alcohol flowing freely. So - when Alex and John walk up to their seats and see the arrangement - it is John himself who picks up their two name cards and swaps them.</p><p>Alex admires Henry’s gall, even as he feels the anticipation at what tortures Henry might have planned for him settle like a lead weight in his belly. </p><p>So this is how he comes to be seated in a hell he is personally complicit in creating, planning self-harm with a blunt fish knife. How is he supposed to survive this entire meal without making a fool of himself or giving the whole game away? Henry has far overestimated his self-control, it seems, especially since he has, up until now, stubbornly refused to decant any of Alex’s rapidly overflowing desperation by putting him physically and psychologically where he belongs - at Henry’s feet.</p><p>He is right to be worried. Henry is like a gravitational well beside him, less than three feet away. It takes effort to draw his attention away from those hands, an arm’s reach from his throat or his thigh, flexing and gripping and doing everything except pulling him to pieces.</p><p>John has his hand on his arm, because of course he does, right where Henry can see. His fingers are stroking idly as he catches up with an aunt seated a little down the table from them. The contact is a pathetic substitute for the humiliating strokes Alex craves, but his cheeks flush at the knowledge that Henry <em> sees </em> and Henry knows just what he's thinking. Alex clenches his jaw and tries to follow the conversation John is having. It’s hopeless. His brain is fizzing like corked wine; he barely has the mental capacity to keep his eyes firmly off Henry and locked on the wall across the room from him.</p><p>And then - <em> then! </em> - Henry strikes. The whisper-thin thread of Alex’s composure snaps and the last of his faculties disappear. </p><p>Henry’s foot nudges his ankle.</p><p>He actually jumps in his seat, he’s so strung out. John shoots him a questioning look and Alex pretends to cough, utterly lame and unconvincing. John gives him a little smile and a squeeze on the arm, then turns away again and goes back to his conversation and his gentle stroking.</p><p>The touch on his ankle is still there. </p><p>He stares down at his plate and tries to control his breathing as his cheeks flush redder. </p><p>Henry doesn’t even look at him when he shifts his foot to the inside of Alex’s ankle and nudges. It’s an order.</p><p>Alex swallows heavily and shifts in his seat and spreads his legs a little wider. </p><p>Henry hums in agreement with something his other neighbour has said, but Alex knows, knows with <em> complete </em> certainty, that the sound is for him. The touch on his ankle remains, steady and utterly consuming. </p><p>And John’s still stroking his wrist.</p><p>They are both touching him. Claiming him. Marking their territory. John doesn’t even know that’s what he’s doing. Again, Henry twists his sweetness into something sinister. </p><p>Now, if <em> only </em> this wasn't stoking the dangerous fire in Alex’s gut.</p><p>A tremble starts in his thighs. Alex grinds his teeth and clenches his free hand around the stem of his wine glass; he half-hopes that it will shatter and cut his palm, another option for self-harm that would allow him to escape. Except that he can’t stand up right now, because the entire world will see just how much this covert tug-of-war between father and son is turning him on.</p><p>And Alex might just, <em>just</em> have held things together if John didn’t suddenly squeeze his arm, hard.</p><p>For a second, Alex is terrified that Henry’s act has been discovered, and he turns to John with wide eyes. But John is cringing good-naturedly as he tracks someone approaching them across the room. </p><p>“Shit,” John whispers, leaning in. “It’s Frank!”</p><p>Frank. Frank. Who the <em> fuck </em> is Frank? Alex can’t be expected to know these things when most of his brain is pooled in his crotch.</p><p>His confusion must be apparent, because John pokes his ribs teasingly and says, “My ex. Remember? I told you about him.”</p><p>“Oh.” </p><p>This rings a distant bell, but before Alex can dig around for any helpful facts, Henry is up on his feet and advancing.</p><p>“Francis!” he greets, with genuine enthusiasm.</p><p>Frank - Francis? - returns the offered handshake with matching gusto. “Mr Laurens!”</p><p>“Good to see you, my boy!” Henry keeps hold of his hand and claps him on the shoulder. “Tell me, are your parents well?”</p><p>Francis smiles brightly, his face open and eager. “They’re very well, sir; they send their regards - from the Bahamas, if you can believe it. Much better weather than we’re having.” He laughs charmingly. Henry smiles back and keeps a firm hold on his shoulder.</p><p>Alex bristles. Some primal part of him instantly hates this Frank-Francis. Henry’s hands should be on <em> him, </em> dammit.</p><p>--oh. Oh shit. Is he <em> jealous? </em></p><p>John is standing up from his seat, and Alex knows politeness dictates that he does the same - but he can’t. Nobody would mistake the swell in his pants for anything other than the shameful and inappropriate thing it is. </p><p>John looks down at him questioningly, but it would be even ruder for him to ask Alex to get up, so at least social convention saves him this embarrassment. He can handle John later if he needs to.</p><p>Henry now has Frank-Francis by both elbows and is turning him from side to side, as though he’s appraising him. John walks up and Henry beams. “I can’t believe you boys are so grown up already. It feels like the blink of an eye since you two hellraisers were tearing up the house together.” They all laugh nostalgically. John pulls Frank-Francis into a fond hug and - funny - Alex doesn’t feel that same proprietary stab.</p><p>“Tell me, young man, how are your studies going?” Henry asks.</p><p>“School is, well - phew. Tough, I guess! It’s a lot to take in.” </p><p>More is probably said, but Alex needs to focus on biting his cheek and holding back the growl of frustration and helplessness that suddenly threatens. He’s so utterly trapped! It’s not fair.</p><p>Then, “Alex!” John says, and from the tone it sounds like it’s not the first time he’s been called.</p><p>“Huh? What?”</p><p>“This is Frank,” John says, amused and puzzled by how he’s spaced out.</p><p>“Oh, it’s Francis actually, these days,” Frank-Francis says. "More, ah, grown up, I think."</p><p>“Oh. Hi.”</p><p>He doesn’t offer any more conversation. There’s an awkward beat before John jumps back in, shooting Alex a confused look - because usually Alex is the charming and talkative one. Alex waits until they’re all distracted again before dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his eyes tiredly. At least his erection is finally flagging; thankfully, social awkwardness is <em> not </em> one of his turn-ons.</p><p>John comes back to his seat. “Hey, you okay?” he asks quietly.</p><p>“Fine,” Alex says, as neutrally as he can.</p><p>John grins lopsidedly. “You’re not jealous, are you?”</p><p>And for a second Alex wants to protest, to ask why the fuck John thinks he would be jealous of who Henry gives his attention to, when he realises - oh, John means <em> him </em>and Francis.</p><p>“Don’t you worry,” John murmurs, and places a kiss just below his ear. “You’re the only one I’ve got my eyes on.”</p><p>Henry times his return to the table to this moment. His expression reveals nothing.</p><p>Oh, this Francis business is too much. Alex is livid. Henry is obviously trying to get a rise out of him, and can’t possibly expect him not to react. Alex still has enough of his wits about him to plot revenge. And - ah - perhaps this has been the game all along, for Henry to find his breaking point, because Henry seems to need an excuse to act on his urges. </p><p>The conversation drifts on. John spins sideways in his chair to talk to Martha, who’s sitting at the table behind them. The other guests around them have turned to look at some photos on someone’s phone. It’s just Alex and Henry left in this corner, for all the world looking like cool acquaintances with nothing much to say to each other.</p><p>Alex quickly formulates a desperate plan that will almost certainly backfire because he doesn’t have time to calculate all the possible paths - but if there is any chance of getting Henry to lay hands on him, it’s worth it. He’s this desperate.</p><p>He sets his wineglass down and pretends at boredom, pouting, running his fingers suggestively up and down the stem, over the bulb, round and round the rim. He can almost hear Henry rolling his eyes at this display, and that’s good, because this is just the diversion.</p><p>Oh, Henry should not have underestimated him. </p><p>Alex is remarkably patient now that he has a plan. Continues to toy with his glass until he finally catches Henry smirk, just for a second - as though he’s amused by how persistent Alex is being at this futile ploy. Then Alex moves quickly. He allows the ghost of a smile to catch the corner of his mouth, then lifts his hand deliberately, puts the back of it against the glass, and flicks his wrist. </p><p>The glass clatters away, then rolls to smash on the floor, while the deep red wine arcs into the air and onto Henry’s chest and lap. An accident! No one can prove otherwise.</p><p>A hush falls around them, and Alex plainly hears John’s too-delighted ‘oh shit’. Henry is momentarily stunned speechless, his arms hovering awkwardly in mid-air as he stares down at himself. Now for Alex to drive in the final nail. </p><p>He jumps up from his chair, pretending to be aghast. “Oh no, sir, I’m so sorry!” He swipes his napkin from beside his plate, leaps over, the picture of contrition, and starts to dab frantically at the spill.</p><p>“Don’t,” Henry growls dangerously, almost silently through clenched teeth. Out loud, he says, “Just an accident, Alexander, please don’t concern yourself.”</p><p>But Alex is beyond commands. He puts the napkin directly over Henry’s groin and <em> presses </em>with his whole palm. Henry stirs palpably - but his hand shoots out to grip his wrist so tight he feels the bones shift. </p><p>Yes, yes, finally! It takes effort not to groan out loud.</p><p>“Really, it’s fine,” Henry says pleasantly, and Alex hopes only he can hear the weight of consequence in the voice.</p><p>They stare at each other for just a moment, a beat too long to be truly safe - but there is distraction enough around them that no one seems to notice. </p><p>Henry realises he’s still holding Alex’s wrist, and lets it go with a flash of alarm in his eyes. He stands up, chuckling ruefully - but there’s visible tension in the corner of his mouth.</p><p>Alex has actually managed to rattle him. His chest fills with reckless pride. </p><p>Henry’s not ignoring him any more.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It’s stupid, irresponsible, anybody could notice - but when Henry leaves the dining room, Alex trails after him, still gripping the wine-stained napkin. </p><p>Henry takes the stairs up to the first floor to where the bedrooms are. Alex follows him. He’s not being particularly quiet, so Henry must know he’s there, but he doesn’t react or make any sign of acknowledgement. He sees Henry start to untuck his shirt just before he turns and vanishes into the master suite - and this must, <em> finally, </em> be the signal.</p><p>Alex pauses at the threshold. Henry is hidden behind an opened cupboard door, rooting around for some clean clothing. </p><p>Suddenly Alex is not sure. Henry’s bedroom is a weighty and forbidding place and he doesn't know if he’s welcome inside.</p><p>Fuck it. He’ll force Henry to look at him, to have to face him. He can’t stand being on the periphery anymore.</p><p>He checks that the coast is clear, and slips inside. The room smells like the distillation of all of his sinful dreams. He closes the door quietly but audibly behind him.</p><p>Henry leans around the cupboard door at the sound, and his questioning expression turns to fury.</p><p>“You! Impertinent boy! What in damnation are you doing here?” he roars.</p><p>Oh no. Has he miscalculated? Alex’s eyes widen as his stomach drops.</p><p>Henry storms towards him, none of his usual assurance and composure evident in his face. The red splash of wine across his chest takes on a menacing glint. Alex is frozen - but he has nowhere to run, even if he could move. Henry’s hand shoots out and grabs the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes are narrowed - but up close, even as Alex’s face is wrenched towards Henry’s, he sees a glint of calculation below the anger.</p><p>He swallows heavily. Perhaps he’s not failed as badly as he feared.</p><p>Or perhaps this will make things even worse.</p><p>“I told you to do as I say. How stupid can you be? I did <em> not </em> give you permission to come here.”</p><p>The fingers in his hair unclench, but only so that they can curl out to grab around the base of his skull. With angry strength, Henry twists his hand and yanks Alex around. A second later, he is thrust against the solid wood of the closed door, rendered completely immobile by the dominating weight of Henry’s hand. His teeth grind together as his cheek presses painfully into the wood; a little corner of his mind spikes with anxiety at the thought that he might have to explain why his face is bruised.</p><p>His heart is throbbing in his neck. He can barely breathe through the tension in his ribcage.</p><p>Yes. Yes. <em> Finally. </em></p><p>His cock twitches to attention.</p><p>“Is this what you want?” Henry growls into Alex’s ear. “To make me angry? To goad me into disciplining you?”</p><p>Yes, yes, <em> yes </em> - this is <em> exactly </em> what he wants. What he <em> needs.  </em></p><p>Alex shuts his eyes tight, wimpers, and nods. </p><p>Henry’s other hand strikes out - his fingers grip around the top of Alex’s left thigh, and his thumb digs painfully into the flesh just below the curve of his ass. There’s a nerve here that makes his leg sing painfully. The hand is <em> so close </em> to where he needs it - but it may as well be on the moon. </p><p>These hands on him! Oh god! He’s fully hard and it has been just a few seconds.</p><p>Then the breath is forced out of his lungs as Henry pushes his entire body against Alex’s back. Alex chokes. The shaft pressing into his ass is rock hard.</p><p>Oh, yes, yes.</p><p>Henry grunts, and <em> thrusts, </em> and Alex’s vision whites out.</p><p>“You like this, do you, you sordid creature? Do you want me to degrade you like this?”</p><p>“Yes--” Another thrust forces a groan from him. “Please--”</p><p>Henry stills. “That is unfortunate for you, then, Alexander,” he spits, and the venom here is not tempered by whatever this game between them is, “Because you do <em> not </em> set the terms here.”</p><p>In one move, Henry pushes off him and releases the grip on his neck. Alex almost crumples, dizzy and confused. His throat tightens as he turns around and he wraps his arms protectively across his chest. </p><p>He looks up at Henry, pleading, in despair. “But,” he tries, “You promised, last time.”</p><p>Henry has his back to him, but he turns at this. “Yes! And if you could have been just a <em> little </em> more patient, you would have given me the chance to fulfil it. I have <em> responsibilities</em>, Alexander. Work. Guests to manage. A family to care for. I need to discharge my duties before I can take the time to deal with you properly. And that is easier to do without you drawing attention to yourself like a tomcat in heat.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>“I should not have to explain myself to <em> you.</em>” Henry runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Your only job was to be obedient. Is that really so hard for you?”</p><p>Alex opens his mouth, more from surprise and regret than because he wants to say anything.</p><p>“Don’t you dare speak,” Henry snaps. “I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuses.” He sneers. “A pity you couldn’t control yourself, because now you’ll have to leave Jack to deal with <em> that</em>. And we both know that’s not what you really want.” Alex whimpers; the thought of sweet, gentle John right now is the wrong kind of agony. Henry laughs derisively as he reads this in Alex’s expression. “You should have thought of that before you pushed me.” </p><p>Alex finally finds his voice. He’s desperate, but he’s also getting riled now, even a little angry. It’s not fair! He didn’t know! “I’m sorry. I’m sorry! God, please just…”</p><p>Henry cuts him off with a cold laugh. “Oh, no, <em> that </em> won’t do anymore. The stunts you pulled tonight were truly imbecilic. I thought you might have more self-control than that, but you’ve been a terrible disappointment to me since you returned.” </p><p>Alex chews on his lip frantically. No! He needs this. He can’t lose it. He’ll go mad; he can’t function without this thing that he has been craving since the moment it was last taken away. The idea that he has failed Henry somehow, that Henry will take his gift away--</p><p>“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please, tell me what to do,” he begs.</p><p>Henry frowns at his pitiful display, but the twist of his lips indicates that some of his cruel humour is still there. “I will require a better apology than <em> that. </em>” </p><p>Oh. Oh. Oh! It hits him. This <em> is </em> a part of it after all. He let Henry goad him into this impossible position. </p><p>"What do I need to do?" Alex asks, defeated. </p><p>“I don’t have time to come up with these things for you. Be creative. Perhaps I will forgive you, if you impress me.” Alex swallows hard. “Now, get out of my sight.”</p><p>Alex flees.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Alex cannot simply vanish from existence, as much as he may wish, so he goes to hide in one place he is sure Henry won't go. He slips into the room he is staying in with John, pulls off his blazer and slacks and curls up on his side on the bed.</p><p>His chest burns fiercely but he is too angry and ashamed to cry.</p><p>He escapes Henry, but he can’t avoid John. It’s not long before John peeks in.</p><p>“Alex? Oh, there you are! You missed the rest of dinner.” When Alex doesn’t really react, John’s voice lowers into concern. “Hey, is everything okay?”</p><p>“Yes.” He tries to inflect <em> go away </em> into the word, but John misses or ignores it.</p><p>“Hang on, did my father say something to you?”</p><p>Alex knows the question is innocent, but it hits dangerously close to the mark. “No.” His bitter response doesn’t even convince himself.</p><p>John sighs in frustration. “Shit, Alex. It was just an accident, I saw it.” <em> You didn’t see shit, John</em>. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”</p><p>“No!” God, Alex can’t have that. “Just drop it, okay? Please?”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Yes,” he says firmly. </p><p>John’s hand is on his hip, and it’s not the hand he wants, but it’s better than nothing. He pushes down the sick feeling that he is using John somehow as he sits up and pulls him into an insistent kiss. John makes a surprised sound, but then smiles against his lips.</p><p>As they tumble down onto the sheets, Alex racks his brain for ideas that would make this sex something other than agonizingly unfulfilling. He wonders briefly, disgusted that this thought even occurs to him, if he can goad John into anger. Properly piss him off, maybe get him to shout or shove or grip hard somewhere. </p><p>Alex backtracks from this vileness and considers playing at struggling himself, but he knows John will just pull back and check in, instead of pushing him down all the harder and claiming him regardless.</p><p>Because John is a <em> good </em> person. A loyal and careful and considerate partner. And Alex is not.</p><p>Alex hasn’t even begun to unpack the least of his sins - that he’s a cheater. It pales next to the rest, frankly, and the word doesn’t sound quite right anyway for what he’s done - but he finds it adds just a little useful frisson to this moment. </p><p>They go through the motions, and while it would usually be fine, it’s so far from what he really wants that he feels <em>less</em> sated afterwards. John slips back to the dinner, but Alex stays in bed.</p><p>He needs to come up with something that will mollify Henry. It can’t be anything vulgar, he knows that. And Henry will want him humble. But he also needs to make the gesture grand enough that Henry won’t dare discard him again.</p><p>At some point deep in the middle of the night, he comes up with a plan. He forces himself into sleep, because he’s going to need his strength.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Alex knows, rationally, that he’s taking an immense risk by slipping out of John’s bed an hour before dawn. He should not be sneaking down the unlit passageway to the dark door of Henry’s bedroom. He <em> certainly </em> should not put his hand on the door handle and press it down silently, or slip in quickly and leave the door open just an inch behind him. </p><p>Alex almost definitely should not be pulling off his pyjamas and placing them silently in a heap on the bed, where Henry will see them the moment he wakes up.</p><p>He glances around as his eyes adjust to the darkness; it’s lucky he was in here just a few hours ago and still remembers the layout. He spots Henry’s stained clothes lying discarded on a settee, and sorts through them silently until he finds the wine-spattered tie.</p><p>Alex should not be getting down on his knees on the plush carpet. He should not be winding the tie around his wrists in a messy bow that he tightens with his teeth, nor should he hang his bound hands over the post at one corner of the foot of Henry’s bed, his wide-spread legs straddling its base. </p><p>He glances back at the door. It’s open just a crack, but even that tiny exposure thrills him. If anyone were to peek in - not that anyone would dare; this is Henry’s room, after all - they’d just about glimpse him, penitent and strung up at the foot of Henry’s bed. He wouldn’t be able to move in time to hide himself. Henry might appreciate that. </p><p>He settles back on his heels to wait.</p><p>He should not be doing any of this.</p><p>No, definitely not.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Henry stirs as the light in the room shifts from cold blue to the warm grey of morning.</p><p>Thank god. John is not a late sleeper. Perhaps he’ll still make it back in time.</p><p>Alex has fallen into something like a trance, but he comes out of it now. His lower legs are numb and his shoulders ache from the awkward position of his arms, but the discomfort is a clarifying sort of penance that he doesn’t regret. It quiets the all-over fire to a smoulder that is much easier to handle.</p><p>Alex keeps his eyes open but fixed down as Henry shifts and sighs and wakes. His heart is in his throat. He has no idea what Henry’s reaction will be, but this really is the best apology he can think of, so he hopes it’s good enough.</p><p>He hears the noise of surprise that Henry makes when he discovers Alex’s clothes, then another, smaller one when Henry must see his bound wrists looped around the post.</p><p>But other than that, Henry ignores his presence as he makes himself ready for the day. Alex sits silently through the whole process. He’s learning. His job is to wait, and Henry’s job is to confirm when the wait is over.</p><p>Once he is fully dressed and ready, Henry comes to stand next to him, facing the opposite direction. Alex would not be able to see his face even if he twisted his head up, but he senses a shift in the energy of the room.</p><p>Henry puts his hand on Alex’s wrists, brushing the spot where they are bound together just for a moment.</p><p>“I will consider your apology,” is all Henry says. </p><p>He turns to leave the room, then reaches the door and finds it still ajar. </p><p>“Ah,” Henry adds, with a good deal more intensity. </p><p>But then he leaves anyway.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex huddles at the far corner of the sofa, trying to keep out of range of John’s touches. If John puts a hand on him now, in Henry's presence, he might just throw up.</p><p>It’s Christmas morning and the family has assembled in the sunroom - this is yet another rich-people version of a sitting room, Alex learns - for the giving of gifts. Alex always expected this would be a little awkward, but he didn’t expect to feel quite so exhausted, or sick to the pit of his stomach with anticipation and shame.</p><p>The kids have all shredded open their gifts already - another rich people thing; Alex would have tried to save the wrapping paper, at least - and it’s just John and Alex left to open their presents. </p><p>John has tried to explain the complicated family rules about who’s allowed to give gifts to whom, and what the relative value of each gift can be based on a complicated formula factoring in recipient and giver. In part this was to explain why their gift to Henry had to be something cheap but special, and why a nice framed photo of the two of them would be ideal - not to mention that its inevitable placement on Henry’s mantle would let John rub in the fact of his queer relationship even at a distance. Alex doesn’t even try to talk John out of it, despite knowing this is precisely the wrong gift because it will delight Henry for frightening and unspeakable reasons. So Alex tells him to go ahead, and the shot that John goes with is one where Alex is looking wryly into the camera, one eyebrow raised, as John kisses his cheek. </p><p>The fact that John chooses something so inadvertently and perfectly fucked up just makes Alex laugh at the time.</p><p>Of course, now, he wants to crawl out of his skin and melt into the ground and vanish forever.</p><p>He suspects the feeling will just get worse when he opens the envelope that John passes him from where he’s seated on the ground in front of the sofa.</p><p>He walks to the invisible gallows as he eases the flap of the envelope open. Inside is a bland, printed card wishing him a happy festive season, signed ‘with love from the Laurenses’. He flips it open to reveal a two hundred dollar gift card to a store he’s never heard of. If Henry wanted to publicly signal his complete lack of interest in Alex, he’s succeeded.</p><p>“Oh, uh, thanks,” he says, mustering all the gratitude he can cram into his tone.</p><p>John peers up at it. “Ah, nice. That’s where I have the grey winter coat from, the one you like so much,” he explains. “We can go shopping tomorrow. Pick out something nice for you?”</p><p>Alex smiles down at him, this time a little more warmly, because he can tell John is really trying to make him feel comfortable. He puts aside the thought of what he could do with two hundred <em> actual </em> dollars - how far it would go towards his textbooks, stationery, dinners on campus that would save him having to leave early - and says, “That sounds great. Thanks, everyone.”</p><p>“Last but not least,” Henry says cheerfully. “Jack, here’s something small for you.”</p><p>John opens the gift bag and pulls out a box that seems to be some sort of fancy cologne. He takes out the bottle, slides off the cap and spritzes a little on his wrist. He sniffs experimentally, smiles, and then holds out his arm to Alex.</p><p>“It’s nice!” John says. “Thank you!”</p><p>Alex takes hold of John’s hand and brings the wrist up to his face. He inhales, then stifles the strangled sound his throat wants to make as the scent hits him. The blood drains from his face, then gushes back, crimson.</p><p>It’s Henry cologne. Unmistakeable. He’s just spent the better part of three hours surrounded by its echo.</p><p>If Henry’s pleased, indulgent smile widens just a fraction with predatory pleasure at Alex’s reaction, nobody in the world except Alex notices it.</p><p>He drops John’s hand quickly so that John doesn’t pick up the tremble that is rapidly spreading out from his abdomen. </p><p>Fuck! </p><p>If he thought Henry was cruel before, that was nothing compared to <em> this. </em>This is a taunt. A guarantee of inescapable sensory assault. A constant reminder that will have Alex’s heart beating to the cadence of Henry’s name whenever he slips on one of John’s discarded sweaters or John reaches an arm around his waist to pull him close. How will Alex be ever satisfied beneath John’s hands when this miasma is there to remind him of what he truly needs?</p><p>He fights not to cry, and can’t help tucking his legs up protectively and pulling his lip into his mouth so that he can bite it against the sick foreboding churning in his stomach. </p><p>He regrets, now, ever setting foot in that library - oh, how he regrets it. Oh, how he’d never, ever trade it.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Alex is emotionally and physically wrung dry - from the gifts; from the hours that he has spent apologising silently on his knees to the void of Henry’s room; from the utter fiasco of last night - so he picks at the Christmas lunch listlessly and begs off the traditional family post-lunch walk. Alex does not share <em> why </em> he is exhausted, of course, but John recognises the stubborn note in his voice and the dark rings around his eyes and doesn’t waste time trying to prod him into going. </p><p>When the others set out, Alex makes a beeline for John’s room. He pulls off every shred of clothing, changes into pyjama pants and one of John’s old t-shirts - while it's not yet stained with Henry’s scent - and drops heavily onto his stomach on the bed, one leg bent up, arms crammed under the pillow, his face turned to the wall. Within minutes, he is asleep.</p><p>No dreams, thank god, because they would all be of hands he’s not sure he’s allowed to have on him anymore.</p><p>He rises gently from his deep sleep when John returns and sits down next to him on the mattress. He’s not sure how long he’s been out. He keeps his eyes closed and smiles as John’s hand reaches out and runs gently through his hair. Then John puts his other hand warmly on the small of his back and Alex hums appreciatively.</p><p>“I accept your apology,” John says - but, wait, that’s not--</p><p>Oh. Oh no. </p><p>Oh<em> yes. </em></p><p>Henry chuckles as Alex’s eyes shoot open. His heart instantly starts pounding. The hands switch from soothing to filled with menace without Henry moving them an inch. The warm pressure pins him to the mattress, but even if Henry wasn’t touching him, he would not budge. Because Henry might be about to give him what he needs and Alex would exchange literally anything for it. </p><p>Such as the last ounces of his pride and dignity, which he scoops out of himself and dumps on the floor. “Please,” he says, putting every note of pleading known to him into his voice.</p><p>Henry laughs fondly. “Oh, don’t concern yourself, my boy. I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.”</p><p>Alex sobs audibly with relief. “Oh, sir, thank you.” </p><p>“I’m glad to see you have recovered your manners.” The hand in his hair shifts to the side of his face, stroking gently along the curve of his brow, his high cheekbone, the arc of his ear. Alex’s face is still pressed into the pillow, looking away, so he can only glimpse a little of Henry in his peripheral vision. The smile he catches looks both paternal and covetous.</p><p>Henry’s thumb rubs along the curve of his mouth and Alex can’t help but part his lips, exhaling heavily. Henry pulls his bottom lip down, then pushes his thumb between Alex’s teeth and presses down on his tongue. </p><p>“The children are still out, so you can make all the pretty noises you like, today. I’d like to hear you.”</p><p>Alex makes a strained sound of affirmation; he can’t form anything close to a word.</p><p>“Be a good boy and put your hands against the headboard. You’re not to move them until I say so.”</p><p>Alex doesn’t hesitate. He slips his arms out of their awkward sleeping position and pushes them flat against the wood above his head, a tricky pose to maintain. As soon as his palms come into contact with it, though, he remembers <em> exactly </em> where he is. </p><p>His traitorous cock throbs as he catalogues his sins.</p><p>John’s room. John’s bed - his <em> childhood </em> bed, the linens slightly worn and faded, a token of familiarity and comfort. The pillow under his cheek smells of John’s hair. Henry is touching his back through the fabric of John’s shirt.</p><p>Alex lets out a desperate groan that chokes off into a sob as Henry rucks up the shirt along his back and runs a possessive hand up his spine. It settles between his shoulder blades. Alex feels Henry’s weight shift over just a little to press him down, a silent instruction to stay immobile, but he has no intention of <em> breathing </em> without permission right now. </p><p>Then Henry’s hand slides down to the waistband of his pants and grips. </p><p>“Up, up,” he orders, and Alex pushes his hips off the bed so that Henry can tug the pants down his thighs. He remembers that he took off his underwear earlier when Henry’s voice catches. “Oh, you naughty thing,” he says with surprising heat. Ah. Henry must really like that, to give away his reaction so bluntly.</p><p>The hands withdraw. For an agonizing minute, Henry sits still beside him - exposed from his shoulder blades to the backs of his knees, vulnerable with his arms above his head. Alex does not move, but he can’t stop the deepening flush or the cringe on his face, or the need to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. </p><p>The mattress shifts. Henry’s weight lifts, then presses down around him; he plants his knees on either side of Alex’s hips and sits back onto his thighs - heavy, comforting, inescapable. Henry puts a hand on his ass cheek and rubs his thumb in gentle circles along the barely visible bruise from where Henry grabbed him last night. Alex feels a burn of shame shoot up his spine.</p><p>“You really angered me last night, Alexander,” Henry says softly. “I don’t want to be cruel to you, my boy, but you pushed me and I did not have any other choice.” The hand squeezes almost imperceptibly, but it’s a harsher admonishment than if Henry had smacked him, and he flinches. “Tell me why you chose to act up like that.”</p><p>Alex grimaces. He doesn’t want to actually spell out his depraved need. “You were ignoring me. I waited so long,” he says eventually, pathetically petulant.</p><p>“And why was that a problem?”</p><p>“I need you,” Alex groans, “To do this to me. To take over.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Alex turns to hide his face in the pillow. Henry’s disapproving hum is all it takes for him to reverse the motion. “Only thing that takes away the itch,” he says, and although he doesn’t explain, he perceives that Henry understands him.</p><p>“And Jack won’t do this for you?”</p><p>No, no, he doesn’t want to talk about John, surrounded by his smell and his patterned childhood bedding and with his father’s hands all over him!</p><p>Henry senses his hesitation. “Tell me, or I’ll go.”</p><p>“No!” he yelps. Steels himself. Sends John a silent apology. “No. He won’t. Can’t. Only you can.”</p><p>He realises with a differently textured anxiety that he probably should not have admitted that. Henry has enough power over him already. After all, he's splayed out and immobile and Henry’s keeping him here by force of will alone. </p><p>“Hmm, yes,” Henry says thoughtfully. “Jack’s anger is entirely superficial. Oh, he’s all noise and indignation, but he’s a gentle boy at heart. Unfortunately, there is a limit to the things a father can teach his son.” Henry chooses this moment to run his hand down the back of his thigh and around to the inside of his leg, just inches away from where Alex’s traitorous cock is trapped and throbbing thickly.</p><p>Alex squeezes his eyes shut as his skin crawls. If Henry actually touched him now he would come in a second.</p><p>“So, did Jack assist you with your, ah, discomfort last night?”</p><p>He nods; his throat is too thick for a moment to speak.</p><p>“Did it do you any good?”</p><p>“No, sir,” he croaks. “Only you do.” He’s dug this hole; may as well fill it with shame and drown in it.</p><p>“So I see.” Henry pets his flank, and Alex flinches at the sudden gentle tap. “No, no, Alexander, don’t worry,” Henry chuckles, then rubs the same spot soothingly. “There will not be any need for that. You’ve been contrite enough. Perhaps, now that the lesson has sunk in, you deserve some relief.” </p><p>Alex lets out a pent-up sigh and his back muscles unknot just a little - but that shifts his hands away from the headboard. </p><p>He slams them immediately back into place with a choked gasp. Oh god, did he mess up? Oh fuck, no, he can’t--</p><p>Henry just laughs at him in long-suffering amusement. “It’s <em> okay</em>, my boy, I know you’re doing your best.”</p><p>Henry lifts his weight off him for a second and Alex feels him repositioning. He understands a moment later when Henry hoists Alex’s hips up and slides his thigh between Alex’s legs.</p><p>Henry wants to hear him, so Alex doesn’t hold back the groan of pleasure and discomfort as his aching erection pushes against the hard line of Henry’s leg. He tries to settle more comfortably, but Henry just shifts to counteract him.</p><p>“Go on, boy, but ask for my permission before you finish,” he says encouragingly, stroking along Alex’s lower back, across his waist and around to his belly. Alex isn’t completely sure what he’s supposed to do, but he grinds down experimentally, and his overstimulated moan is matched by Henry’s hum of approval.</p><p>The position is awkward - hips up in the air, pyjama pants still tangled around his calves, very little leverage from his arms, his weight balanced on the sensitive flesh between his legs. It’s uncomfortable almost to the point of pain, but the contrast of Henry’s soothing strokes muddles his senses enough that it’s <em> glorious. </em></p><p>He twists his hips back and pushes down again and oh, <em> oh yes. </em> Henry’s thigh is hot and the fabric covering it is rough and there is so much <em> friction. </em></p><p>Alex wants to race headlong into pleasure - he’s waited so long, been denied this so cruelly - but he draws it out because he needs to suck every moment of humiliating surrender into his chest, to loosen the deep, tight tensions that he finally knows how to ease. And he doesn’t want to beg for permission just yet.</p><p>Henry doesn’t hurry him; in fact, from his quiet hums and whispered affirmations, he gathers that Henry is impressed with his restraint. </p><p>As Alex works into a rhythm, Henry’s touches find his tenderest, most private places, and Alex marvels to realise that his cock is not one of them; but then, he’s been so wrong about so many things. Under the careful fingers, he discovers the pleasures hidden at the backs of his knees, along the entire length of the fold of his buttocks, in the well of his hips, along the soft curve of the belly below his navel, in the lowermost dip of his back, at the hollow just south of his underarms.</p><p>He grinds himself down slowly, steadily, and finds a little precipice on which he can hold himself, just shy of the unstoppable tumble. An agony of obedience and bliss and denial. His shoulders burn, then go numb, but he ignores them. He could stay here forever - reality be damned, decency be damned, <em> John </em> be damned.</p><p>But Henry, it seems, cannot.</p><p>“Oh, Alexander,” he croons at last. “You astonish me. You can be such a patient and well-mannered boy when you try.” He shifts, pushing himself closer. The press of Henry’s erection against the back of his thigh sends a hot flush of delighted shame into Alex’s chest and he lets out a breathy gasp.</p><p>Henry shifts his weight forward and lays himself down over Alex’s back. Alex registers the rough texture of his cardigan for just a second before the weight drives the air slowly but relentlessly from his lungs. His cock is now trapped even more tightly between Henry’s leg and his own stomach.</p><p>Henry puts one hand on his waist, then rests the elbow of the other arm near Alex’s shoulder and lays the hand firmly but lightly on the side of his head, just above Alex’s ear.</p><p>The weight on his back means Alex needs to suck air in more deliberately, and with that comes the renewed scent of John, followed by the spike of shame that only fuels his surrender.</p><p>Henry could ask anything of him now - really, anything - and Alex would give it willingly. But all Henry requests is, “Cry out for me.”</p><p>Alex understands. He squirms his hips back and forth in the little space Henry has left him, and it hurts his cock now, but he does it regardless. He lets the discomfort colour the moans he unleashes between the breathless pants. His thighs start to shiver and then tremble. Tears threaten, and then Henry whispers, “Good boy, sweet boy, you’re doing so well,” and they spill out all at once and he wouldn’t have been able to hold them in even if he wanted to.</p><p>He’s close, so close. He jerks his hips more frantically now, and the sounds that spill from his lips are ones he has never heard before - frantic and small and agonised, begging without words.</p><p>Then - he falls into bliss, from a greater height than he has ever achieved before. He lets out a long, groaning cry as he comes, hot and pulsing and perfect. </p><p>But it disintegrates into a string of choking sobs when the pleasure recedes but the pressure does not.</p><p>God, he’s too sensitive now, it hurts, it hurts, “It hurts!”</p><p>Henry relents, but only a little. “There, there, my boy - but you can’t expect me to restrain myself if you make such delicious sounds when I mistreat you.”</p><p>He sobs in response.</p><p>Henry releases his waist. Alex feels the hand fumble between their bodies, hears a zip. The rough fabric is replaced by hot, hard flesh.</p><p>“Oh! Oh, sir.”</p><p>Henry grunts wryly. “I admit I am not unaffected by you, Alexander.”</p><p>At the crossroads of post-orgasmic bliss and discomfort, Alex feels Henry wrap his hand around himself and start to stroke.  </p><p>Henry flexes his thigh and uses his sensitivity against him to force out a hymn of cries and sobs and pleas that fuel his ardour. Henry’s knuckles rub and knock and grind against the back of his thigh, and as Henry’s breathing speeds up and his strokes become less controlled, Alex starts to feel the head of Henry’s cock nudging into the flesh of his backside.</p><p>Fresh arousal bubbles up, and he doesn’t know where it comes from, because he thought he was entirely spent.</p><p>Henry presses Alex’s head harder into the pillow as he loses his composure. Alex still can’t see much, but he can sense every shudder and grunt and groan above him. He increases the tenor of his responding moans, and very little of it is acted, because he is almost fully hard again.</p><p>Henry growls low, and shudders, and Alex feels the gush of hot come explode onto his lower back.</p><p>Henry takes a moment to catch his breath, then strokes Alex’s cheek with his thumb. “Such a dear thing you are,” he says tenderly.</p><p>Alex whimpers inadvertently in response, because he’s drifting away from his serene satiation, and he realises that Henry hears his renewed neediness by the surprised laugh he lets out. Henry flexes his thigh and Alex can’t help but confirm his suspicions with a pleading moan.</p><p>“Oh, really, Alexander?” Henry doesn’t sound mad; in fact, he seems to be excessively pleased.</p><p>“God, I’m sorry,” Alex whimpers. “I didn’t mean to. You just--”</p><p>“That’s quite okay, my boy. We have a little more time.” Henry fumbles himself back into his pants, then repositions himself so that he is kneeling with both of his legs between Alex’s. His ankles are still trapped, so Alex can’t shift away and every jostle makes him grunt. “Release your hands and sit up for me,” Henry instructs.</p><p>Alex has almost forgotten his arms. His shoulders are stiff, so it hurts a little to move them, and he doesn’t really want to because he likes being spread out like this. But Henry must be obeyed. He props his arms next to his chest and pushes himself up slowly. </p><p>The cooling semen on his back starts to run downward, and some of it trickles down the cleft of his ass. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s usually the son’s seed, not the father’s - and yes, oh, yes he is going to hell for allowing this but even more for craving and adoring it.</p><p>Henry guides him by his hips to a high kneel, then pulls Alex down to sit back against him. Henry’s legs between his are already pushing his knees apart, but Henry widens his seat, and Alex finds himself so spread out that he can barely keep his balance. He looks down at himself and sees his cock standing out, red and sticky with mess and already as hard as it’s even been.</p><p>How did he not know this about himself before Henry? How did Henry see it in him right away? How is he ever going to live without these commanding touches and degradations?</p><p>He pushes the thought away. He has more pressing matters.</p><p>“Put your left arm behind your back,” Henry murmurs.</p><p>Alex twists it back, as instructed. Henry takes hold of his wrist and pulls it up and forward, so that the back of his hand is pressed right between his shoulder blades and his chest is pushed out. He loses more of his tenuous balance, and his thighs have to grip harder against Henry’s to prevent himself from falling. He feels deliciously vulnerable and exposed. If anyone were to open the door now, there would be nowhere to hide. </p><p>“Get to it, Alexander - and you are not to stop until you are completely finished. Is that clear?”</p><p>A whisper is all he can manage. “Yes.”</p><p>He takes himself in hand, and almost right away he understands why Henry made him promise. He’s impossibly aroused, yes, but he’s also very sensitive now, and the mess he’s already made has turned sticky.</p><p>But there is no going back.</p><p>He starts with a light touch, hoping that he can take a little of the sensitive edge off, but he’s rubbed too raw for that. Very soon he’s groaning from the soreness and trying to flinch away from his own hand and finding he has nowhere to escape. It aches, really, awfully, and there’s not enough pleasure here to cut through it. </p><p>And yet, it just takes a whisper from Henry to make it worthwhile.</p><p>“Does it hurt?”</p><p>“Yes,” he hisses.</p><p>“Do you want to stop?”</p><p>This is a trick question, he <em> knows </em> it, but he can’t see his way through it. “Yes!”</p><p>“Don’t.”</p><p>Alex tears a sob loose. He won’t stop, but he can’t go on alone. “Then help me. Please. Please, sir!” His voice is all distress and pleading.</p><p>“What do you need, Alexander?”</p><p>He flails for an answer. He suspects Henry won’t actually touch his cock, and right now he’s not willing to risk that wrenching grip. Something must be missing. Something-- </p><p>“Your other hand,” he groans. Henry has a hand free. Why isn’t he using it?</p><p>“Where do you want it?”</p><p>“Anywhere!” he yelps. Whatever Henry can come up with will be better than anything he can devise himself right now.</p><p>He feels a rumble in Henry’s chest through his back. Henry lifts the hand, puts it on the centre of his chest and runs it up his body until the fingers catch under the curve of his jaw. The hand settles across his throat, warm and broad, firm, holding but not squeezing. The suggestion of what this could be is enough.</p><p>Yes. This is perfect surrender.</p><p>It’s all he needs. A moment later, with immense relief and a tinge of regret that he can’t prolong this, Alex comes again, panting, yelping, making a further mess of himself and the bedding. He trembles violently with the effort it takes to stay upright. Henry holds him a little longer, then carefully releases his arm. The pins and needles add another confusing sensation to Alex’s stretched and strained nerves.</p><p>He wants to sag down, but Henry keeps the hand on his throat and prevents it. He leans in and his face presses into Alex’s hair.</p><p>“I do hope, for your sake, Alexander,” Henry says with a tinge of wicked humour, “That Jack isn’t feeling too, ah, frisky after all the fresh air today.”</p><p>Alex huffs at the thought. John, beloved John; John could do anything to him and it wouldn’t make a dent in <em> this. </em></p><p>“You’d best get the bedding changed right away, as I’m sure he will be back soon,” Henry instructs matter-of-factly. His thumb strokes up and down the side of Alex’s neck. “Oh, and, I would like to make use of your mouth again before you leave. I will summon you at the right time. Do you <em> promise </em> that you will be patient for me?”</p><p>Alex swallows against the hand and nods quickly. </p><p>He’s not going to make that mistake again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you are here, *you* know what you've done. *I* know what you've done. This is a safe space.</p><p>Yell at me in person on Tumblr - @my-deer-friend</p></blockquote></div></div>
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